


Mistletoe

by Kateydidit



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Couldn't resist slipping in a bit of Molstrade sorry, First Kiss, Fluff, Holidays, M/M, Mistletoe, Pretty much as cliche as it gets, Scotland Yard Christmas Party, cavity-inducing sweetness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 12:08:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kateydidit/pseuds/Kateydidit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Sherlock and John at the Yard's Christmas party. Honestly, they should have expected this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> There were some daily Christmas prompts floating around during December; I tried my hand at a few of them. This one was, you guessed it, "mistletoe". Enjoy the cliches. XD  
> Un-beta'd and un-Britpick'd; any errors are completely my own. Enjoy!

Sherlock did not like Christmas parties, as a rule.

In fact, he usually went out of his way to avoid them. Pointless celebrations of a trivial holiday commercialized almost to the point of obscenity. Ridiculous. He tried his level-best to get out of the Yard’s Christmas party each year, and he had always succeeded. But that was before John.

A lot of things changed, after John.

He stood in the corner of the room, barely-touched drink in hand, inspecting the room with a masterful combination of Disdainful Expressions Numbers 182 and 237: I Have Never Been This Bored In My Life and The Present Company Is Insulting My Intelligence Merely By Existing. (He was rather proud of it.) He had spent the first fifteen minutes after arrival deducing the life stories of the seventeen officers in attendance with whom he was not already acquainted, concluded that they were utterly uninteresting (unsurprising, findings supported by extensive precedent), and thereby exhausted his entertainment for the evening.

He fingered the glass aimlessly, letting his gaze wander across the “dance floor”, as it were. Most people were chatting around the fringes of the room or picking at the food on the tables against the walls, but the braver and more inebriated of the crowd were dancing merrily to the holiday tunes, John included. Sherlock easily picked him out by the bold and faintly ridiculous Christmas jumper (adorable, not that Sherlock would ever admit to thinking so). He was currently swinging Molly Hooper in a circle, laughing gaily as they almost fell over. He caught Sherlock’s eye and if possible his grin grew. 

If one were to look at Sherlock Holmes right at that moment, they would notice that his expression had softened. Just a bit.

John gestured with a jerk of his head for Sherlock to come over and join them, eyes twinkling merrily, but Sherlock merely raised an eyebrow in response. John shrugged good-naturedly and spun Molly one last time before the song came to an end. She giggled as he came to a stop, saying something into his ear, and he gave her a warm smile in response.

Sherlock looked away.

The song transformed into something softer, some overly sentimental song about wanting to be with a loved one for Christmas, and he decided it was time for a fresh glass. He made his way across the room till he could reach the drinks table and scooped up a glass of something, taking a large gulp.

“Didn’t think you’d be drinking,” a cheerful, slightly-out-of-breath voice commented from behind him. He turned to find John leaning against the table next to him, an easy grin on his face.

“I have to occupy myself with something,” Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes as if the whole situation was beneath him. “Shouldn’t you be with Miss Hooper?”

John chuckled. “You know, I think she’s spoken for,” he said, jerking his chin at the crowd. Sherlock turned to see what he meant and found a furiously blushing Molly slow-dancing with an equally flushed but rather pleased-looking Lestrade. The DI caught his eye and shrugged infinitesimally, a little sheepish. 

Sherlock grinned. “Brilliant. Mycroft owes me a new bow.”

John laughed. “Do you know, I think that’s the closest I’ve heard you come to actually being pleased for someone else.”

Sherlock huffed, taking another sip of his drink. They stood in companionable silence, watching the two lovebirds dance.

“By the way,” John added, “you never did tell me- why did you decide to come tonight?” At Sherlock’s silence, he continued merrily, “I mean, when Lestrade texted you the invite, I expected an Epic Sulk.”

“I don’t sulk,” Sherlock protested indignantly.

“Oh yes you do,” John insisted brightly. Sherlock pursed his lips to refrain from dignifying that with a response.

“Really, though, Sherlock.” John glanced at him quizzically. “Why did you come?”

Sherlock glanced back at him, and his easy reply caught in his throat and died. They stood there for a moment, just looking at one another, Sherlock’s heart pounding away in his ears. Then the song ended, and the moment broke with the soft applause of the dancers. Sherlock looked away, down at his glass.

“Oh, come on, you two,” a familiar gruff voice protested, and Sherlock looked up at the edge of glee in the Detective Inspector’s tone. The man stood in front of them holding Molly’s hand and looking like all his dreams were coming true in one night. “You can’t get out of it that easy!”

Sherlock’s brows furrowed. “Get out of what, exactly?”

Lestrade grinned. “That,” he said, nodding to something just above their heads.

Sherlock and John both turned to follow the path of his eyes and see what he was referring to.

Mistletoe.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his stomach clenched in anticipation of John’s inevitable protests. “Really, Lestrade?”

“Really, Sherlock,” the DI said, a smugly self-satisfied expression on his face. “Go on, get on with it!”

“Lestrade-” Sherlock protested, a bit desperate.

“Oh, what the hell,” John interrupted warmly, and maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just taking whatever excuse he could get, but Sherlock turned, confused, to find John leaning up and kissing him.

The detective froze, shocked into stillness, until he slowly realized that John wasn’t moving away. The doctor lingered, kissing Sherlock like this was the only chance he would ever have, like a last breath of air before drowning.

“Blimey,” came Lestrade’s soft exhalation behind them, but Sherlock barely noticed, his eyes on John as the doctor slowly moved back. John swallowed, self-consciousness creeping into his careless facade. He cleared his throat, stepping back.

“You’re not gay,” Sherlock whispered, bewildered.

John grinned, a bit awkwardly. “And you call yourself a detective,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sherlock stood staring at him for a moment, eyes wide, before sweeping in to claim John’s mouth in a crushing kiss.

After a beat of surprise, John responded. Enthusiastically.

Then suddenly there were cheers and catcalls from every direction, and they broke apart to see the whole room applauding. John turned a rather impressive shade of red, whereas Sherlock simply looked completely overwhelmed, blinking like he had just discovered that his whole worldview was wrong - which he rather had.

John chuckled, slipping his hand into Sherlock’s. The detective squeezed it gratefully.

“All right, all right,” Lestrade called, shutting everyone up. “Now that that’s over with…” He rubbed his hands gleefully. “I believe I called the twenty-fifth?”


End file.
